Pick a Little, Goad a Little (ZhongChi, NSFW)
Instead of Lumine at Childe's weekly spar, he finds Zhongli waiting for him instead.
- 'Etched in Stone'
- 5.4k Words
- fight then fuck + weird biology
- sponsor-a-prompt
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The moment Childe steps inside the Golden House, he knows that something is off.
He is always early. He and Lumine have a standing date once a week, for a spar, and she always pushes through those doors right at the exact time. Not a moment early, not a moment late.
There’s already someone here. Childe feels it, tastes the power the lingers in the air. Not Lumine. This is—
“Darling,” greets Zhongli once Childe’s gaze falls on him after a quick scan of the room. He stands there, in front of the Exuvia, studying it with a hand on his chin. Childe wonders if this is the first time he’s seen it since—
No, no, Childe doesn’t want to think about that. The betrayal still stings from time to time, but it’s in the past.
“I—what are you doing here?”
Zhongli turns to him. He raises an eyebrow, amused. “What indeed,” he replies coolly, his words wrapped in melted mirth.
The answer is obvious. Zhongli is dressed down in looser-than-usual slacks, and a plain shirt. There’s a playful energy that hangs in the air. Childe has known him long enough to be immediately wary. He waits there, observing, eyes trailing over Zhongli’s form, picking it apart.
Zhongli wears one of his shirts. It’s loose around the collar, showing off a tinge of charcoal skin where his shoulder meets his nape. The air glitters gold with Geo, clinging to him, his fingers, freely leaking from Zhongli’s pores.
Childe’s mouth dries at the display.
“I’ve heard of your weekly spars with Miss Lumine,” says Zhongli, finally, breaking the silence.
Oh.
Well. It’s never been a secret. Zhongli has routinely expressed his distaste for it.
“She’s the only willing to keep me on my toes.” Childe shrugs off his cloak and drapes it over a railing. It’s winter, cold enough outside for an outer layer, but the Golden House is warm.
Zhongli gives him a strange, lizard-like stare in return. “The only one?” he questions, and that’s when Childe knows he may have fucked this up. Something is off. Zhongli is behaving strangely.
But it’s too late to back down. He swallows, digging his heels in and goads with, “Well, you won’t spar with me. She’s the next best option.”
“Next best,” repeats Zhongli.
“Obviously.”
Zhongli chuckles softly, still cradling his chin in his fingers. “I suppose that is a failing on my part. I am, usually, unwilling to risk harm to you.”
“You’d never harm me.” These words fly from Childe’s mouth before he can stop them. And it’s true—gods, it’s true. Even at Zhongli’s stupidest moments, he’s never intentioned harm. But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Despite his well-meaning ways, Zhongli forgets about many, many variables.
“Of course, not.” Zhongli shifts, turning towards him fully. “But that has never been my concern. You, though—Ajax, you are a different story. You seek out pain like a glutton. It is, truly, your worst quality.”
It isn’t pain that he seeks out, but the hunt, the fight, the thrill of it all. Childe feels alive when blood pumps in his veins. “You know that it’s always been my goal to find myself at the top. In order to be the best, I have to fight the best.”
Zhongli hums. “And I’m the best?”
A year ago, Childe would have countered that the Tsaritsa was the best, but things have changed. His loyalty has been sidelined, swayed by his husband.
Now, Childe smiles, his mouth curving into a grin. “You aren’t just an Archon, Zhongli, you’re a god. I couldn’t ask for more of a challenge if you’d just give me one.”
The skin around Zhongli’s eyes crinkles. He’s amused. Affectionate. He looks at Childe, impressed, caught by him, and the attention is… rapt. It warms Childe, and—
Fuck. Maybe this was a bad idea and Zhongli has always been right. Childe isn’t a fool. He’s here to finally answer that call, and Childe knows the moment they get their hands on each other, it’s a fight that will turn sideways, softened by their love for each other.
“What’s the occasion?” asks Childe, crossing the space to where Zhongli stands.
There is a moment of hesitation. “Curiosity. Miss Lumine has often recounted your… spars. You often come home bruised, but in good spirits.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
Because it doesn’t. Zhongli is curious about any and everything, but that interest doesn’t usually drive him to seek it out first hand. No, there’s an ulterior motive here. Zhongli’s expression is too sharp, his demeanor too tight.
“Zhongli, are you okay?”
“Hm?”
His blasé response proves it. Zhongli seems… distracted, almost. It’s like watching the gears turn in his head.
Eventually, Zhongli says, “I am fine. More than fine.”
He is not. He is not.
“Zhongli—”
“Didn’t you want a spar? Haven’t you asked this of me since the moment we met? You’ve been impressively stubborn about it.”
It would be stupid to turn this invitation down. Zhongli has given in a handful of times, engaging in small bouts of hand-to-hand combat. This feels different. This feels… To meet him here, at the Golden House…
“What do you want, Zhongli?”
Zhongli’s expression changes ever-so-slightly. It sharpens and when he looks at Childe next, it’s almost predatory. “To indulge in my mate,” he says simply. “I did not think you would be so suspicious of this.”
Mate. It’s a word that makes heat churn in Childe’s gut. He shudders, interest sparking down his spine. “When it comes to you, Zhongli, everything is give and take. I half expect for you to make this into a contract.”
“Should we?” Zhongli’s interest is piqued, and suddenly there is less space between them. “Baobei, I am more than willing to craft an agreement, if that suits you. What would your terms be?”
This is a trick question. It must be. This close, Zhongli smells like fine shampoo, and that subtle, scented oil that he favors.
There’s something else, something that nags at him. Childe licks his lips, leaning so close that Zhongli stops him with a hand against his chest.
“Ajax.”
“I’m—” Childe clears his throat. “I just want a good spar. I won’t win, but if I last… let’s say, a good half-hour, I get a full night of you, to myself.”
“I do think that you’re the one with no time off. I am, effectively, retired.”
“Then I’ll talk to Katya. She’ll grant me a vacation.”
Zhongli considers this, and then asks, “And if you don’t? What do I get?”
“I’ve already asked you what you wanted, and you didn’t tell me. I might not be able to smell lies, Zhongli, but I can tell something’s bothering you.”
“Nothing is bothering me. I am not…” Zhongli sighs. He pulls at Childe’s shirt, sliding his fingers across his chest, teasing the line of it. “Perhaps I just miss you. The Tsaritsa seems to be running you ragged.”
It is true that Childe was in Fontaine for longer than he wanted to be. Then there was a lot of downtime spent in recovery, frozen-solid in Snezhnaya. But this, Childe thinks, is not about that. He doesn’t ask questions, though, or push Zhongli’s buttons. No, no, he’s going to indulge because Zhongli has finally, finally, agreed to a fight.
“Zhongli, just give me your terms, and then we can get this show on the road.”
Zhongli hesitates. Traces the length of Childe’s shoulders with his fingers. They’re still gloved, but they must be smoldering black underneath that soft leather. Childe thinks that Zhongli is barely holding onto himself, and he wants to know why.
“There is little you could give me that I do not already have, but—”
“That’s a lot of words for such a simple question.”
“—were I to request something, it would be rather simple. I too, would enjoy having you, only you, to myself for a night.”
When Zhongli says it, it seems like a threat, almost. In a good way. In a, I will not leave the room without limping way, which Childe is more than enthusiastic about.
“Sounds good to me. Do we shake on it?”
Instead of holding his hand out, Zhongli cups Childe’s cheek. “One more thing, baobei. My instincts have been rather demanding as of late. My home does not smell like you anymore. When I win, I will hoard you away.”
When, Zhongli just said. And though Childe makes no illusions of standing a chance, a half-hour in the ring is feasible, he thinks. Zhongli always holds back.
“Pretty confident for an old lizard.”
Zhongli’s pupils are narrowly slit. His eyes glow golden, and he drags the pad of his thumb across Childe’s bottom lip, catching it against chapped skin. “Rapscallion,” he calls him. “In the days of old, we sealed our contracts in blood. With you, however, a kiss would suffice.”
Childe snorts. “You don’t have to create a contract to kiss me.”
“No, but it is more fun that way, isn’t it?”
Perhaps. Childe smiles against Zhongli’s thumb and kisses it. “One thing,” he says, then. “I don’t want you to hold back.”
“Ajax—”
“No, I want you to give it your all. I want to go up against your full strength.”
Zhongli is quiet for a moment. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s thinking—thinking about the best way to get around such a request. It won’t work. Childe’s locked in, eyes on the prize.
“Darling, I thought you wanted to last a half-hour,” he purrs.
“Think so lowly of me?”
“Of course, not. There are few that I would offer such an opportunity to, Ajax. It is a testament to what I think of your abilities.”
Childe kisses his thumb again. “But?”
“But,” says Zhongli, “willful ignorance is still ignorance.”
What a thing to say.
“Fifteen minutes, then. I know I don’t stand a chance of winning, but give me a quarter-hour of you at your worst. I’ll learn more than any fight I’ve had with Lumine.”
Zhongli huffs and leans forward. “As you wish,” he murmurs, breath warm against Childe’s lips. He kisses him, softly, and with that, the contract seals into place, a thrum of magic pulsing through Childe’s veins.
And really, Childe should learn to shut up. He should learn when not to put his foot into his mouth, because Archons above, Zhongli warned him. Your full strength, he asked for. Fifteen minutes, he’d said.
Two minutes, and Zhongli has him on his back—and that’s only because he teased him first, dodging Childe’s movements. Then he moved, lightning fast, and Childe found himself upended, head cracking against the floor.
A soft huff flits from Zhongli’s mouth. “Worrisome. When you hit your head, I mean.” Only he sounds amused, and not at all worried—but that’s because he knows Childe’s limits, and is already feeding a steady flow of power into his bones, staving off whatever damage might be done.
“Don’t,” hisses Childe. “That’s cheating.”
Zhongli blinks. “Caring for you is cheating?”
“No, that’s—” He grunts, sitting up, swaying slightly from dizziness. “It’s an unfair advantage.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Zhongli reminds him.
“I’d rather it be on my own merit,” bites out Childe. He swoons when he stands, but to Zhongli’s credit, he leaves Childe be this time. “Let’s go again.”
Zhongli’s mouth twists slightly. “There is no shame in calling off—”
“Again.”
Zhongli’s jaw clenches. His expression is amused, haughty, even, and this time when he steps away, he pulls at the shirt he wears, undoing the top two buttons. It’s easy to see now, the way charcoal bleeds into his skin. He came here, already keyed up, already wanting a challenge, and Childe is determined to figure out why.
“What has you so bothered? Is it the fact that I have a weekly date with Lumine?”
A date between friends, sure, but the words have their desired effect—Zhongli stiffens, his head tilted back. Geo shocks the air, coalescing around him, shackling against his skin, through the space above his head. Childe’s eyes lock onto the ghostly visage of antlers bleeding from the crown of Zhongli’s temple.
Yeah, something is up. Zhongli so rarely has a problem reigning himself in, and he is never jealous of others, least of all Lumine. Childe’s heart is in his throat, terrified, awed, and incredibly turned on. Desperate to get close again, to feel the chase in his blood—these are the things he loves about sparring, and sometimes Lumine doesn’t cut it.
His mate, though. Zhongli. Laogong. Fuck, he knew this would be good. Just what he wanted, needed. And, apparently Zhongli, who was waiting for him.
“Lumine,” says Zhongli, his mouth curling into a feral grin. “She was the one who suggested that I meet you here this week. She is worried about you, about the Foul Legacy. You shouldn’t—”
“Oh, so that’s it?” interrupts Childe. “This is about me, then?”
“Your self-destructive tendencies are involved, yes.” Another half-truth, another clever dodge around the full answer.
“Zhongli.”
“I can sense it, you know. The way that the Abyss eats at you, the way that it chips away at your being. With every use of that thing, more of you wears away. Are you so intent on letting it fester?”
Childe cocks his head to the side. “This isn’t about that. You’ve always complained about it, but this and that are different things.”
Zhongli seems to have underestimated him. He chews on those words, forming a rebuttal. “You would leave me alone, then? You would have me retire, an old man in my lonesome?”
Oh, that’s a low blow.
But, two can play that game. Childe is a master at kicking back, much to the chagrin of his fellow Harbingers. “Fair trade off,” he says, “if it means unlimited, cosmic power.”
Zhongli’s jaw tenses, a small, barely noticeable tick. Perfect. Childe’s goaded him perfectly, but now it’s time to cinch it all.
He calls upon his abyssal power, letting it flood his veins. It burns, but in the way that a good workout burns. Fire flashes through him, setting every pore alight, and Childe laughs, the sound growing larger, louder. He shifts, everything within him shifts, tilting as he becomes one with that darkness, with that abyssal taint that overtakes him.
Childe lasts a little bit longer this time. He manages to get a few laps in around the Golden House before Zhongli hooks an arm around his waist. Zhongli is so small in comparison like this, but it doesn’t matter; he tosses Childe down like he’s nothing more than a rag doll.
The Foul Legacy squirms underneath Childe’s skin. It wants blood, and screams for more—but then Zhongli throws a leg over him, pinning Childe to the ground, and the Foul Legacy all but crumples back.
Power recognizes power. The Foul Legacy heels in the might of a once-archon, and still god. Zhongli barely does anything, he just leans over him, a hand pressed to the thick armor of his chest. “Darling,” he coos, dragging those fingers over the swell there, sweeping across dents and cuts that decorate the plates.
It’s sweetly saccharine. Childe can’t feel the heat of Zhongli’s fingertips, but arousal pools in his gut all the same. He’s always gotten off on this, the push and pull of the hunt, but to be at the end of his mate, of his laogong, as Zhongli so often calls him, is something else entirely.
Then those fingers brush lower, across Childe’s taut belly, across the bulge trapped in his trousers. Childe’s cock aches. It twitches underneath Zhongli’s deft hand, resulting in an amused chuckle.
“I suppose that I should not be surprised. Tell me, Ajax, was sparring with me everything that you wished for? Did it satisfy that hungry curiosity of yours?”
It only made him hungrier, and Zhongli’s fingers pulling over his erection helps none. Childe groans, his head falling back, thunking against the tile of the Golden House. “Zhongli.”
His voice is tight and tiny, ragged around the edges. Zhongli offers him a smirk, a slight tilting of his lips as the pressure against Childe’s cock grows heavier.
“Hungry,” he repeats, musing over the word. “You are always hungry for the strangest of things.”
“This isn’t strange. You—Zhongli, I—”
Zhongli is teasing him, of course. He leans close, slotting between Childe’s thighs, pressing his nose into the sweaty crook of Childe’s neck. It’s awkward like this, when he’s larger, broader, dwarfing Zhongli’s body, but Zhongli doesn’t seem to care.
His tongue darts out to taste him, to lick across Abyss-darkened skin. “Delectable.” Zhongli tilts closer to drag his teeth, his fingers across the spot, teasing a bite. “Ajax, you are a vision. You taste, you smell—”
Zhongli lifts his face to the juncture of his neck, inhaling, uncaring of Childe’s mask, of his armor, and the stiff, spiky bits that are in the way.
He’s hard too. Zhongli. He rolls his hips against Childe’s crotch, making his own need evident. All that talk about getting off on sparring, and he’s no better. Zhongli presents himself as calm and collected, but even he has his moments. Even he gets needy, his instincts taking over and—
Childe stills. There’s a thought, a memory, a conversation that they shared months ago whilst hidden away in the teapot.
“A rut,” Zhongli had whispered against his mouth, tongue darting out to taste tea on his lips. “Eventually, you will see it. I will be overcome with a need for you unlike what you’ve seen before. I will cease to make sense. I will make irrational decisions, but most of all, I will want to hoard you away.”
And then, his words earlier, not even a half-hour ago: “My home does not smell like you anymore. When I win, I will hoard you away.”
Now, Zhongli hovers over him, a ravenous expression shocking his face. He’d been waiting for him, desperate. Childe had walked into a trap, he now realizes. How clever Zhongli is, how wild and cunning. Zhongli could’ve invited him over and explained, but no, no, Childe remembers the rest of that conversation as well.
“There’s a thrill to it, those instincts. I will want to hunt you down, and then I will want to nest. I will want you leaving these sheets bow-legged and bred full of my clutch.”
“Is this your way of seducing me?” It’s a stupid question. Childe’s voice is warped, tinny in the otherwise quiet room.
Zhongli, though, takes no offense. He just purrs, satisfied, and tilts his hand until he’s palming at Childe’s cock properly. “It must be working for you to be like this. What a good boy for me.”
For all the things Childe has done is his life, he’s never been fucked in this form. He’s never even thought about it, beyond a few errant tugs over his cock when hot and bothered. Always alone. Never with another. And even with Zhongli, even with his mate, he’s never…
“I’m different, like this. You… Zhongli, you really shouldn’t—”
“I shouldn’t?” Zhongli lifts a hand to yank off his glove with his teeth. Then it drops again, teasing the fastenings of Childe’s trousers, pulling the top-most button open. “I find myself interested in what you seem to be hiding away.”
Childe catches Zhongli by the wrist, careful of his claws. Zhongli pauses. His expression is heated, pupils blown wide, irises glowing a brilliant golden, but he waits. Licks his lips and looks at Childe’s face, his mask, taking in the sight of him.
Then, Zhongli asks, “What worries you? Do you think I will not like whatever I find within your trousers?”
Childe laughs, a choking sound, at the absurd question. And no, no, that isn’t quite it. Logically, he knows that Zhongli has seen stranger, weirder things than the way his cock is when cloaked in the Foul Legacy.
But still.
Hesitation bleeds through him. Zhongli senses it.
“Ajax,” he says, “do you wish to stop?”
“No, no, I want—” Childe sighs, rolling his hips up against him. “This is your rut, isn’t it? You need this.”
Zhongli waits a scant few seconds before pulling at his trousers again. “What I need is you. That manner and method matters not. Miss Lumine merely…” He clears his throat. “I may have complained about my impending cycle, which led to a rather clever solution on her end. But this… Baobei, this doesn’t have to happen here. I can steal you away into the teapot if you’d rather wish.”
There is an appeal to this. Zhongli is interested, Zhongli wants, and that in turn makes Childe burn all the hotter. They can save the teapot for later. Besides, adrenaline still surges through Childe’s veins, and there’s little better than a post-fight fuck.
Zhongli’s eyes widen when Childe’s cock is freed. “Oh,” he mutters, loosing a breath as he rests that thick length against the palm of his hand. It’s massive against him, nearly as thick as his wrist. Tinged blue and purple, wider at the base, thin and spade-shaped at the tip. It’s flexible, prehensile, even, writhing against Zhongli’s fingers, eager for more touch.
Hunger tugs at Zhongli’s expression. “Darling,” he says, “you were scared to show me this?”
“It’s—oh.”
Zhongli huffs, giving Childe’s cock a stroke, a good squeeze around the tip, and whatever worries he had dissolved right into the aether.
“The only thing I dislike is that this form causes you harm. But this—Ajax, this is divine.”
Doubtful, but it’s easy to believe it with the way that Zhongli touches him. Childe’s cock twitches, wriggles in his grasp, responsive to the attention. It’s a little embarrassing, but that is outweighed by the pleasure that heats his gut, and the rapturous expression that mars Zhongli’s face.
“A pity,” he says, as he explores, dragging his thumb around the head of Childe’s dick, teasing the ridge there, “that we must be quick about this.” Zhongli moves, pulling open his own clothing, freeing his own cock, pressing them together.
It’s laughable. Childe’s cock is monstrous beside Zhongli’s, but it doesn’t matter. Zhongli’s stiff cock is hot against his, and the friction as it pulls over heated flesh is something to die for. Childe moans, his back arching, hips bucking as he fucks into the tight grip of Zhongli’s fist.
“Later, I will pull you apart. I told you, baobei, what I wanted when I won. You were right. I’m rutting, utterly consumed with thoughts of breeding you full.”
“I want that. I want—”
“As much as I would give you that, not here. Ajax, I want to pull you apart slowly. I want you all to myself, in my sheets, in my den.”
That’s… Childe swallows thickly. Okay, yeah, he can do that. Doesn’t change the fact that his dick aches, his ass clenches, and all he can think of is being fucked by Zhongli’s perfect cock. And oh, the Foul Legacy likes the idea of that too. His own dick writhes against Zhongli’s hand, almost like it has a mind of its own.
(Which, it kind of does. The Foul Legacy is a weird, wild thing that cannot quite be conceptualizes. It both is and is not Childe. He has his own thoughts, and thoughts that act separately like this, which is the nature of abyssal taint. It’s partly why he rarely indulges even masturbatory measures in this form—ultimately, it leaves him unsatisfied because he’s feeding the pleasure of another beast.)
With Zhongli here, Childe finds himself curious. Will he be satisfied in the presence of his husband? Or will that make it even worse? Childe almost begs to be whisked away, but Zhongli’s teapot is no place for the skin he wears. He doesn’t want to mar such a place with his brand of darkness.
Plus, there’s Zhongli and his need. His rut burns through him, clear as day. He fucks his palm, his cock dragging against Childe’s, a moan flitting from his lips. Pink-cheeked. Eyes glittering with arousal. Childe doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zhongli so lost in the heat of it, not even the first time they came together.
“Zhongli,” he says. “Zhongli, just—fuck, just—”
“Were it feasible,” cuts in Zhongli, “were it safer for you to stay like this, I would spend hours playing with you. I would explore every corner, every crevice, every—” He looks down, smiling at the sight of Childe’s dick, thumbing over the tip to smear the precome that drips from there around. “Every inch, laogong.”
“Please. Please.”
“But we can’t, can we? All the things that you’ve done to yourself in the pursuit of power, and for what? To still wind up on your back?”
Oh. Oh. Zhongli’s tease unsettles the Foul Legacy, but heat rolls through Childe. He likes this, the weight of Zhongli against him, over him. That look on his face. Unbridled lust. Want and need. The Foul Legacy, too—it may not want to submit, but it does because it recognizes Zhongli’s might, all that power that he has packed away in such a small place.
Divine. So, so, divine.
“You’re close,” says Zhongli, pulling his thumb around the crown of Childe’s cock, tracing the strange shape of it. “Come on, darling. Let me see what you look like. I want to know all parts of you, good and bad.”
Childe keens, the sound of it strange through his mask. His back bows, and he arches from the ground, driving his hips upwards to fuck against Zhongli’s hand, his cock. The friction is killer. Heat burns through him, pulling him thin, taut, ready to snap at any moment.
But really, it’s Zhongli, and that gaze of his, and the way that he watches their cocks in his hand with rapt attention. That’s what does him in, what makes the pleasure kick up a notch. Childe always wants; wants to be wanted, wants to have that attention. He didn’t think Zhongli would like this, that he’d get off on it, but, but—
The spar keyed him up, but it’s Zhongli who made him want this. A few more strokes of their cocks, a few more rolls of their hips together, and that delicious, grinding friction, has Childe tipping right over the edge. He comes with a cry of Zhongli’s name, thin and raspy, and a choked off moan that fizzles out into the air.
“Look at you,” says Zhongli, his voice deep, caught. He still ruts against him, still presses his own cock into the tight space of his fist, overstimulation be damned. Evidence of Childe’s orgasm is everywhere, staining is stomach, and Zhongli’s hand with strange, thick, glittering come. “I want to taste you. I cannot wait to—hah.”
Zhongli is thinking of more than that. He squeezes their cocks tighter, and even as Childe’s flags, it still feels good.
“One day, I’ll make love to you like this. One day, we will plan for it, and it will be quick, and swift, but I want to know all of you, darling.”
“You could—you can.”
Zhongli grunts softly and comes suddenly.
So, maybe not. Childe whines at the loss of opportunity. One day, indeed. He wants that, wants to know what it’s like to be filled in this form.
Zhongli’s cock stays hard. He pulls his hand away slowly, cautiously, and groans at the loss of pressure. Trails his fingers through the mess they’ve made—but mostly Childe’s come, scooping it up. He brings it to his mouth for a taste. Zhongli moans softly, his tongue darting out against his fingers, and—
That’s too much, all of this is too much. Zhongli was right, the Foul Legacy is starting to wear him too thin, and Childe’s next sound is a soft one of discomfort. Abyssal taint turns sharp, pin-pricky, and he does his best to slough it away.
But he’s tired, almost too tired to reset. It takes longer than usual for Childe to melt back into his expected form, and he’s left bone-weary and aching in places he didn’t know existed.
Zhongli looms over him. He wipes his soiled hand against his trousers, and then cups Childe’s face. “You should rest.”
“No, I want—fuck, I want more. That wasn’t—”
Childe aches to be filled, to have Zhongli’s cock inside of him.
He also just aches.
Zhongli chuckles softly. “My darling mate,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss his brow. “There will be plenty of time for that. Trust me when I said you want to be rested for—”
“Your rut.”
Zhongli does not immediately answer. Childe watches his throat bob as he swallows. “It is, admittedly, an annoying cycle. I have been thankful that it’s remained dormant.”
“…until now?”
“Yes, well, in the presence of my husband, it would be natural, no?”
Childe tugs at Zhongli’s shirt. Well, his shirt. Zhongli stole it. “And all the breeding talk? It’s all talk, right?”
More hesitation, more half-answers, and an amused, crooked smile that curves Zhongli’s lips. “I think that we both would agree that we are… unsuited for children, perhaps.”
“That is not an answer.”
“The breeding talk is merely that—”
“A kink then? Thank god.”
Childe can work with a kink. Zhongli’s biology is strange too, so he was worried about weird, adeptal things. He’s already seen the glowing dick. Zhongli has referenced a knot, and fuck, yes, he’s curious, but—
“Worry not, Ajax.” Zhongli’s voice is considerably calmer than just moments ago. “It will be nothing that you cannot handle. I’ve already sent a letter to Miss Ekaterina—”
“You what?”
“—and Miss Lumine was kind enough to tidy-up my teapot. It was dusty because it’s been a while since we’ve had time to ourselves. We owe her one—what is that look?”
Oh, how embarrassing. It’s bad enough that Zhongli talked to Lumine about this to begin with, resulting in him being here instead, but for Katya to be aware. “Surely you just said you wanted a vacation, right?”
Zhongli says nothing, just blinks at him.
Right. Well. Childe groans, dragging a hand down his face.
To lighten the mood, Zhongli changes the subject. “You never answered me, by the way. Was a spar with me everything that you thought it would be?”
Yes. No. Maybe. Childe certainly wishes he’d had a fucking chance, at the least. He had no illusions of winning, but he did think he’d last at least ten minutes, maybe fifteen. He’d wound up on his back, twice, and Zhongli had treated it like a fucking game.
“I think I get why you’re an archon, now.”
“Was,” corrects Zhongli gently. He pulls back and rights his clothing, tucking his cock away and grimacing all the while.
“Shit, you’re…” Childe stares at the still very obvious, very hard bulge in Zhongli’s trousers.
“Pay it no mind. Come, darling, let us settle in for the night. You should eat and sleep, and tomorrow—”
“That’s when the real fun starts, right? Can we fight again?”
Zhongli’s gaze flashes gold, literally. Geo is thick in the air. It curls around them as Zhongli’s grip on his being wears thinner and thinner by the second. “I would say no, but—”
“But?”
“It is within my nature to… indulge in roughhousing. Dragons, we—” He sighs. “Even with my softer, qilin instincts, in times of rut, I find myself uniquely… bothered.”
“That isn’t a no.”
“Ajax—”
“You didn’t say no. That’s basically a yes.”
“Ajax.”
Childe pulls himself to his feet, grimacing slightly, but otherwise reenergized. “Next time, I’ll last longer.”
Zhongli shoots him a half-lidded gaze. “You may certainly try.”
A promise and a threat. A thrill zings down Childe’s spine, and if he wasn’t so tired, if he wasn’t so fucking sore, he’d demand that rematch right now.
But Zhongli knows him, and he presses closer, taking hold of Childe’s face between his warm palms. “Those are thoughts for later, baobei. Come, let us retire home.”
“Zhongli—”
Zhongli kisses him, and it isn’t a gentle, teasing thing, it’s a hard press of their mouths together; it’s his tongue tracing the seam of Childe’s mouth, coaxing it open; it’s swallowing Childe’s moan, and tasting every sound that Zhongli pulls from his throat.
Another promise, another threat. Zhongli kisses him possessively, as if to consume him, which must be the rut talking. Childe likes this side of him, this older part of Zhongli that has given into those baser instincts.
When they part, Zhongli still lingers close, laughing against Childe’s mouth.
“You still didn’t say no,” says Childe. “Means I’m wearing you down.”
“What a rapscallion. My rapscallion, my wily, mate.”
This time, when Zhongli tells him to come, Childe does, and the tuck away into his teapot, the Golden House melting right away.